When The Water Holds It's Breath
Far from Seattle’s noise, the lake watches her back.
It's the week before Christmas, and the campus empties like a held breath finally released. Dorms go dark, fraternity houses lock their doors, and the usual buzz of twenty thousand students fades to nothing. I wake to a stillness that should feel peaceful, but doesn't. Instead, it presses against my chest, heavy and wrong. I walk through the neighborhood surrounding campus, past houses with drawn curtains and empty drivew...
